


The Games a Foot in the New Year

by Pennygirl612



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 14:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17265569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennygirl612/pseuds/Pennygirl612
Summary: Peter follows up on the Klimt ornament James Bonds left for him on the office Christmas tree.  It's New Year's Eve when the thief makes an appearance playing cat and mouse with the agent all the while nearly causing Mozzie to have a heart attack.  This is my follow up story to The Not So Secret Santa.  It helps to read that one first.





	The Games a Foot in the New Year

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar.
> 
> This is a follow-up story to The Not So Secret Santa. It does help to read that one first. It was inspired by the pilot episode where Diana mentions how Neal sent champagne to a surveillance team. Sorry for posting it a little late for it to be a true New Year Eve's fic but better late than never.

Instead of being home with his beautiful wife waiting on the ball to drop signifying the end of one year and start of another, Peter found himself in a cramped van along with Jones and a probie. The three of them had spent every night since Christmas surveilling the Neue Galerie Museum. All because of a hand painted ornament left on the office Christmas tree. 

At the time, Peter had been certain that the Klimt ornament was left not just as a clue to where the thief would strike next, but rather as a challenge thrown down to the White Collar team as a whole and more specifically to Peter. Unfortunately, his boss didn’t see it the same way; convinced the ornament was nothing more than a ploy to distract or even embarrass his best agent. 

Only earlier in the day, Hughes had called Peter into the office advising him to cut his losses on this one. But Peter knew deep down in his gut that James Bonds would go after the Klimt. While the kid was smart, he was equally reckless and impulsive and leading Peter to his next score was exactly the kind of thing James Bonds would do. 

But after several more hours sitting in close confines with his agents, breathing in the same stale air, and staring at the same damn building, Peter was beginning to have his own doubts. If James Bonds didn’t strike the museum tonight, he would pull the plug. Damn, he had been so sure. 

Just then his thoughts were interrupted by a hard knock on the doors at the back of the van…

*****  
From his vantage point in a room on the fifth floor of a nearby apartment building, Mozzie lowered the binoculars unhappy with what he had seen. Across the street and half a block down was a black oversized van that screamed government surveillance. Clearly they were set at a perfect angle to observe the Neue Galerie. The same Neue Galerie that held a certain Klimt painting that Neal had been coveting. The same Neue Galerie that by now Neal was likely making his grand entrance to steal said Klimt painting. 

“Ah, Neal, there is a suspiciously federal looking kind of van parked across the street. Abort,” Mozzie said into the mike.

Neal’s response was a soft chuckle followed by, “Oh, that’s just Agent Burke.”

“Just Agent Burke!” Mozzie sputtered. Then another, more dangerous thought occurred to him. “Neal, what did you do?”

Neal almost sounded guilty when he answered—almost. “I kind of invited him.”

Mozzie closed his eyes and pinched his thumb and index finger together as he took a moment to practice deep breathing exercises. Inhale through the nose. Exhale through the mouth. Inhale. Exhale. All in an effort to stave off the migraine that suddenly threatened to rock his brain. 

With his eyes still closed, Mozzie asked, “And why would you…never mind, I know why. You can’t help yourself.” Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Again Neal chuckled. “Relax Mozzie. I’m already inside. I’ll get the painting and slip out without any problems. Agent Burke is about to get distracted.” 

Mozzie, not at all encouraged by that response, opened his eyes and raised the binoculars. Quickly he scanned back and forth between the museum and the surveillance van. 

Mozzie was almost afraid to ask. “What kind of distraction…?”

*****  
Opening the van door, Peter’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the light shining in on him. Then he blinked several times trying to convince himself that he wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. There standing just outside the door was a young man dressed in waiter garb holding a silver tray and on that tray was an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne. 

Peter didn’t question the waiter. He merely took the bottle offered to him because he knew--he knew the bottle was a “gift” from James Bonds. Without a word, Peter passed the chilled bottle back to Jones who whistled muttering something about the Dom Perignon being worth more than $300 a bottle.

Then the waiter held out an unmarked envelope. Tearing open the envelope, the card inside simply said: “Better luck in the New Year.” 

As Peter took tip money out of his wallet and handed it to the waiter, he couldn’t help but smile. James Bonds had won another round but there was plenty of game left to play and Peter played to win. He would get him next time.

*****  
From the window up high, Mozzie couldn’t help but smile as he watched Neal slip unnoticed out of the museum while Agent Burke took the offered bottle of champagne. Continuing to watch, a chill ran through Mozzie as he witnessed the slow smile spread across the agents face. Once again, Mozzie got the distinct feeling this was not a man to be underestimated or taken lightly. 

Mozzie lowered the binoculars just as Neal entered the apartment. Mozzie knew he should lecture the kid about taking unnecessary risks, about tempting fate, or about how it all would catch up to him one day. But the triumphant look on Neal’s face as he proudly displayed the Klimt stopped him. His young protégée might be reckless and impulsive, but at least he had style.


End file.
